A. Yehoshua - The Liberated Bride

And then — do you remember? — your father grew suddenly alarmed at the prospect of my “betrayal.” He looked so bewildered and hostile, and his gloom was so great, that your mother asked if he was feeling all right and Tehila, who (unbelievable!) knew nothing (and may know nothing to this day) about the drama that had taken place behind her back, said crossly, “What’s the matter, Abba? Cheer up!” Even the old restaurant owner, Fu’ad’s uncle, who knew your father well, sensed the shift in mood and sent us a copper beaker of Turkish coffee and a plate of yellow semolina cakes on the house. I noticed that your father, whose relationship with you had always been warm and full of love, was afraid even to look at you.

Then and there, the masks were stripped from us all. Had you wanted it (but you didn’t, you didn’t!), you had all the proof you needed that my version of events was as real as the Arab village we were looking at. But you, although you felt your father’s distress and could easily have grasped its significance, decided to overlook it in his favor, his and not mine, because you had only one father, whereas a husband could always be housebroken or exchanged. And you knew that only by turning truth into fantasy could you defend the honor of your family and the sweet memories of your childhood. Right in front of me, demonstratively, you went over to your father and gave him a hug to bolster him and — isolate me.

My Meeting with Your Father in the King David Cafeteria

He chose the place. You know how he liked to drop in on hotels and check their service and prices so as to know what to charge for his own rooms.

It was seven in the evening. The cafeteria was half-deserted. Twilight was falling on a hot, dry autumn day. He was studying the menu while waiting for me in a corner.

He wasn’t unfriendly, although neither did he display the ingratiating anxiety he had shown me in Abu-Ghosh. He was serious and reserved throughout our meeting. It couldn’t have been easy for him. He was wearing his safari jacket despite the heat (the beige one, not the white), and as always I had the sense (for the first time, accompanied by a twinge of envy) of a strong, impressively virile man.

He ordered an herbal tea for himself — did his stroke really come from his notorious high blood pressure? — and I, in a moment of weakness, asked the waitress to bring me, along with my coffee, a piece of cream cake; its tastelessness only weakened me more in what was the shortest, but most dramatic, confrontation of my life.

It started off in a low key. We talked about his plans for expanding the restaurant, which required a building permit. I suggested, based on my experience working for Harari, that he refrain from making public his idea of bringing Christian pilgrims from the United States, and especially — at least until the plans were approved — from telling anyone that he intended to make the place nonkosher. Every official in the Jerusalem municipality, I told him, no matter how nonobservant, lived in fear of the religious parties, and there was no point in taking chances. Your father listened carefully, gripping his tea with both hands as though to warm them. He glanced at the walls of the Old City, as if checking whether the floodlights had been turned on, and then casually uttered five words that spelled an end to all my hopes:

“ I’ll really miss you, Ofer. ”

(Which is more than I ever heard from you, Galya.)

Just then the lights came on in the Tower of David. I went white, or perhaps red, and instead of doing the honorable thing, getting up and walking out on that pointless meeting, I bowed my head as though failing to grasp his meaning and asked ironically if he understood whose fault it was that he would have to miss me. And without waiting for answer, I said: “Yours, Yehuda, yours and only yours! ”

He was momentarily taken aback. The surprise that made him flush seemed genuine. But after a minute, he asked in that unflappable, gentlemanly way of his:

“ My fault in what way? ”

And that was when I forgot all my grandmother’s instructions. I only knew that this man, sitting across from me wearing a silk foulard, had already turned me out of his family. The injustice of it infuriated me. I told him he had to defend me against you.

In those very words. “You have to defend me against Galya .”

This time he was ready.

“ What are you talking about, Ofer?” he asked innocently. “We’ve been terribly upset by what’s happened between you, but we’re helpless. Galya is treating it like a top secret. She told Tehila to mind her own business and not ask any questions. It’s a fact that we’re fond of you. And we’re sorry, too, about your parents, with whom we were proud to be connected. But how can we talk her out of it after such a betrayal? ”

The malicious glint in his eyes said everything. The man was demonic and in full control, and although I didn’t think you had dared tell him about my “fantasy,” he knew that you wouldn’t hesitate to break up our marriage, not only to save his honor, but also (from now on I’m going to be pitiless, Galya) because you were already thinking ahead.

My despair and bitterness turned to anger and hatred. In the middle of that quiet cafeteria I said furiously:

“ What betrayal are you talking about? Yours? ”

“Mine?” He smiled calmly. “Whom have I betrayed?”

I stared down at the table. I still couldn’t bring myself to speak the truth. I toyed with my fork at the soft, wounded corpse of the insipid cheesecake, and I said, “All of us, the whole family. Down there in your hideaway… ”

He was ready for that, too. Yes, your father had prepared himself well.

“ Hideaway?” The word amused him. “You call that a hideaway? It’s an old office in which a cousin of ours used to work, an accountant who’s been dead for years. He came from Tel Aviv to do our income taxes. I didn’t understand what you were looking for down there. All you had to do was ask and I would have told you that the old plans were in the closet by the front entrance. But you disappeared without a word. What made you run away? There was no one there but me…. ”

At that moment I realized that before I had even thought of a showdown with him, he had figured out how to win one. If I were going to save our marriage at the last minute, it wouldn’t be by cross-examining him. My only hope was a desperation measure: to offer not an apology, but my collaboration, and that would have horrified even my grandmother. “Stop right there, Ofer,” she would have said. “Tell him to go to hell with his Paradise and find yourself another wife. ”

Find myself another wife….

But I didn’t want another wife. It was you I fell in love with and you I wanted from the day I was born. And so before my final banishment, I tried one last move that only a sick spirit could have thought of:

“ I’m not your judge, Mr. Hendel,” I said. (Yes, “Mr. Hendel,” not “Yehuda.” Maybe I felt that my madness called for some formality.) “That’s something I don’t want to be and can’t be. It’s a big, strange world, full of things that seem terrible now but may be taken for granted someday. Perhaps I shouldn’t have panicked. I should have assumed you knew what you were doing. I’m almost thirty years old, and I had to come a long, hard way before I learned to love as I do now. My marriage to Galya is the high point of my life, and its only hope. To lose her is to risk losing everything. That’s why, although I can’t pretend that I was fantasizing, I’ll cooperate with you in any way I can. My love for Galya is so great that I’d look the other way even if she wanted to behave like her sister. ”